


The Monster and the Healer

by gypsyweaver



Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bad Sex, Body Horror, Captivity, Dissociation, Graphic Description, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Other, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23747515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsyweaver/pseuds/gypsyweaver
Summary: Beelzebub finds themself at the not-so-tender mercy of their old teacher. Gabriel's life is on the line, and Beelzebub's ability to please Israfil will determine his fate.
Relationships: Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Raphael (Good Omens)
Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684990
Comments: 11
Kudos: 24





	The Monster and the Healer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Donner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donner/gifts), [WolfRampant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfRampant/gifts).



> CW: RAPE, dissociation, BODY HORROR (not gory, but weird)
> 
> If I missed anything, do let me know in the comments.

Beelzebub liked plans. The Divine Plan, the Infernal Plan--less so the Ineffable Plan. (The last of those three being the precise opposite of a plan.) They liked building plans and day planners, event planning and city planning. They’d recently learned to love dinner plans (since they’d started making them with Gabriel.) Plans meant that there were steps to be taken to reach a specific goal. Plans were comforting.

Beelzebub did not have a plan and was flying by the seat of their pants. Several things could go very wrong here, and maybe one or two things could go very right.

If Israfil pushed Gabriel too far (or if Gabriel didn’t trust that Beelzebub had everything in hand), there might be a fight. If there was a fight, Beelzebub doubted that they’d get another chance as good as this one to ensure that Gabriel was permanently safe from Heaven.

Before everything in Tadfield...oh, what a useless train of thought! Before Tadfield, they were professional rivals. The least annoying emissaries of their respective employers.

Before Tadfield, they might have missed him--had he committed an offense worthy of Heaven’s judgment. But not like now...Beelzebub felt certain that the loss of the Angel of the Dawn would untether them from any obligation--to Heaven, to Hell, to Earth.

But why would God ever give them something so sweet, if not to take it away? She’d never had any love for Remiel, little and less for Beelzebub.

They bowed before Israfil and knelt, laying their hand on his knees. Palms up, supplication, an offering of a tender piece of flesh. The wrists, where the big veins ran shallow.

And that position--on their knees, palms out and up--made any physical self-defense impossible. This was a corporate trust exercise, but the consequences of misjudging Israfil were far more dire than a backwards floor-fall.

They waited. Eventually, he touched their head. Beelzebub closed their eyes (for Israfil’s benefit) as he healed them. They felt his power running through them. Their pulse slowed, and their body warmed. When they opened their eyes, the light in the kitchen was less bright, less harsh.

Beelzebub had not realized how weak the fear and the cold had made them. How good of Israfil to fix that. It would make things easier for them.

“Up,” he commanded.

Beelzebub obeyed. They sensed that Israfil was going to test his boundaries with Gabriel. They thought to use a miracle to restrain Gabriel, but Israfil would sense if they used force to make Gabriel behave himself.

That would spoil his game.

‘Please trust me, Gabriel,’ they prayed, though they did not know who those words were sent up to (or down to). ‘Please let me keep you safe.’

Israfil reached for the sash of Beelzebub’s robe.

Leaves danced in their memory. A smell, earthy and rich, found them across a sea of six thousand years. They lowered their gaze and allowed Israfil to untie the sash and open their robe.

“What are you doing?” Gabriel demanded.

“Something that you cannot,” Israfil replied. “Healing them.”

“They’re a very good healer. They can take care of that.”

“Can you?” Israfil asked, his voice kissed with a malevolent humor. “Sweet Remiel, please explain to Gabriel why he’s wrong.”

“Yes, Master,” Beelzebub said, ignoring Israfil’s persistent use of their angel name. “Healers cannot heal ourselves of certain conditions. Not effectively. Shock is one of those conditions. Anything that hinders our ability to think makes it difficult to heal. Israfil believes that God intended to keep the healers cohesive, dependent on one another for assistance.”

Beelzebub thought it was a deliberate effort to cripple the healers, who were more powerful than any fighter. But this was not the time nor the place to insert their own opinions.

“We already know that your ability to think is compromised. You let him fuck you while you knew you were in shock,” Israfil said.

“Hey, that is absolutely none of your business,” Gabriel protested. “Anyways, you healed them of the shock, right? They should be able to take things from there.”

“It’s alright, Gabriel. He isn’t hurting me.”

Their voice was light, nearly formless, tinged with the dissociation that they’d been taught. Israfil could put them through any trial--and had--and they would sound just the same. Giving him the answers that he needed as he explored their flesh. As he wrought pleasure or pain from them. In the name of teaching and experience. In the name of preparation for a war that they were destined to be on opposing sides for.

Above them, green leaves whispered in Beelzebub’s memory. They longed to give themself over to the leaves, to the calm and quiet, but they could not. Gabriel would require reassurance that everything was fine.

When, in fact, things were as far away from fine as Pluto was from the sun.

“Heads or tails?” Israfil had asked them, as the twilight rolled over the Garden. His time, the time of the coming dark. He’d asked them this peculiar question under the shade of the whispering leaves, after he’d taken everything he wanted from them that day.

“What does that even mean?”

And he’d shown them the coin in his palm. A gift from Lucifer. Israfil had showed Remiel what heads meant, and tails. Rolled it over and over in his hand. Rested it with Lucifer’s profile gazing between his pointer and middle finger. Between Jupiter and Saturn. Between authority and identity.

He’d perched it on top of his curled fist, under Remiel’s curious gaze. Israfil rolled it over each of his knuckles, catching it in the margins between his fingers, and letting it slide to the next.

Israfil spent that night teaching them that trick. It was harder for them to learn, as their hands were so much smaller.

In the present, Israfil’s hands went to their breasts. He ran a thumb over one nipple. Beelzebub made it harden under his touch, as he would expect. Israfil was always unhappy with them when their body was unresponsive to him.

“So,” Israfil said. “He wanted you milking?”

“Not Gabriel, no.”

“I’m sorry, pet. I should have been more clear,” Israfil said, as he nudged them with his thumb. A few drops of their milk (missed by Gabriel or made new by the active milk glands that they hadn’t healed away yet) leaked onto him, and he drew his thumb to his mouth. “Delicious, as always. Though sweeter than you used to be.”

“Used to be?” Gabriel demanded.

“Calm down, brother. They were in my care for a very long time. I know everything that this corporation can do.” Israfil smiled at his brother. Beelzebub’s stomach curdled at that smile. Israfil was spoiling for mischief, and there was very little that they could do to stop him. He could discorporate Gabriel with a thought, and (unlike Sandalphon) he would. “There’s no place on them that you could touch that I haven’t touched first. There’s nothing that you could do with them that I haven’t done first.” He returned his attention to Beelzebub. “I know Gabriel didn’t ask you to do anything to yourself, Remiel. I was referring to Sandalphon.”

“Sandalphon?” they asked. “How much do you know?”

“Enough, I think. But I want to hear it from you,” he said. His hand ran along the flat of their belly, to the thatch of pubic hair. “He made you do this?”

“Yes,” Beelzebub said.

“Legs apart, Remiel.”

The coffee machine burbled. It finished its cycle. “Shall I get the coffee, Master?”

“It will wait,” he replied, his voice the soft silk that he used whenever he planned to do something particularly awful.

Leaves danced between them and the sky as Beelzebub moved, allowing Israfil the access that he desired. He slipped a hand to their thigh, and then up to their crotch, feeling the labia and running a thumb over the fur on their mons.

Beelzebub’s hands went to the table, and they leaned back. Israfil would want more, and they did not wish to be told what to do. Not when they already knew what he expected. Not with Gabriel so nearby and so vulnerable.

Gabriel, unfortunately, did not know what Israfil expected, nor what he was capable of. He exploded out of his chair.

“You get your fucking hands off of them, you filth--“

That was all he managed to say before Israfil sealed his mouth shut. “Sit down, brother. I daresay you’ll give yourself a heart attack.”

Gabriel’s robe disappeared and his knees buckled. Beelzebub could feel the miracles that Israfil used to weave Gabriel’s flesh around the wrought iron vines and leaves that decorated the back of the chair. The skin of his legs enveloped the curving legs of the chair. His arms crossed over his chest and his skin melded to itself.

Beelzebub forced themself to breathe normally, to keep their gaze on Gabriel impassive. The green leaves of a six-thousand years dead oak tree called to them, and they ignored that call.

They shrugged, and their robe whispered to the floor.

“Ah, perfect. Show me your work.” Israfil pushed his chair out, making room for what he wanted.

Beelzebub nodded, stepped between Israfil and the table, and spread their legs. They leaned forward, bracing themself on the tabletop as Israfil entered them, roughly, with his fingers.

They did not cry out. They looked down. Green leaves...wrought iron leaves...They closed their eyes as Israfil began to root around inside them. They used a (small, hopefully unnoticed) miracle to loosen their flesh around his fingers, to lubricate.

Eventually, it stopped feeling like the tender walls would tear around Israfil. He jammed his thumb into their pubic bone, trapping their clit and rubbing at it like an eraser worrying at a misspelled word.

Beelzebub gasped, because it was expected. They deadened the nerves with a thought.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You like it when I’m good to you, don’t you?”

“Yes, Master...but...”

“What, you don’t want to do this in front of your boyfriend?” Israfil laughed at the suggestion. “Gabriel is a fighter, not a lover. He’s also the dimmest of the Archangels--seriously Remiel, him? I would have expected you to go for Michael if you wanted a fighter. Maybe Uriel if you wanted a thinker. Did you just need protection from Sandalphon? Christ, I could have given you that!” He laughed again, a harsh barking sound. “What does GABRIEL know about pleasure, huh? He doesn’t know how to touch you. He could learn something from me.”

“That’s...that’s not it. I...” Beelzebub forced their flesh to tense and quiver around Israfil. They sent a wet gush over his fingers and cried out, wordlessly. They remembered to flush over their breasts and back, and to start to sweat. “Thank you, Master. You are kind, and I am unworthy.”

The words were automatic. They’d said them so many times--to Israfil, to Sandalphon. Those words came to their lips without thought.

Gabriel had to know they were faking. He’d seen them come completely undone under his kind hands, his gentle mouth, and around his frankly magnificent cock.

They hazarded a glance at Gabriel. He looked surprised.

Thankfully, Israfil could never tell that they were faking. He completely misinterpreted the look of disbelief on the parts of Gabriel’s face that he had been allowed to keep.

“Sorry, brother. But your little demon prince was mine first, in the Garden. Lucky for you, I’m the generous sort. I don’t mind sharing.” He ran a hand over Beelzebub’s rump. It was meant to be an affectionate gesture, but it only reminded Beelzebub of the way that humans touched their horses. “You’ll have them back when I’m done.” He paused. “You know, I was afraid that you’d forgotten your place, Remiel. That fear was rather misplaced, and I apologize for misjudging you.”

“You are my master. I serve you with pleasure,” Beelzebub said. More automatic mouth sounds, devoid of any meaning.

Israfil seemed content with that. “I could fuck you in front of him, couldn’t I?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Huh...” He laughed, but Israfil’s laugh was humorless. “You actually love this idiot, don’t you? You’re terrified that I might hurt him, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” they said. “But you are still my master, even though you’ve said that I have none. God gave me to you, and told me to obey. That order didn’t change because of a rigged coin toss.”

“Rigged? Lucifer rigged it?”

Beelzebub smiled and turned to Israfil. They straddled his lap and pulled his face close for a kiss. Not a chaste kiss from the Garden, but the kind of kiss that would leave him weak and dizzy. Beelzebub forced his mouth open and thrust their tongue inside. Their fingers twined around Israfil’s long, dark hair.

He whimpered into their mouth.

He’d never had a kiss like this, unless he’d found himself a lover that Beelzebub didn’t know about. They rocked on his lap, soaking his jeans and feeling his flesh begin to swell beneath them.

“Tell me about Nuriel and Sandalphon,” they said, their eyes glittering with an eagerness that was not entirely fake. Something had shifted, and Beelzebub knew that they were winning. “And I’ll tell you what you want to know...about Sandalphon and about that wretched coin.”

They left a trail of kisses from the corner of his mouth, down his jaw, to his neck. They lingered at the tender flesh beneath Israfil’s Adam’s apple, at the hollow of his throat. They forced their breasts to fill again, and leaned back. Their hands found Israfil’s knees and they rolled their hips on him. They felt the milk begin to trickle down their chest and belly.

“After that, I can show you all the new things that I learned...and I can give you something more filling than coffee to drink.”

Israfil lowered his mouth to one of the trails of milk and licked it up to their nipple. “I think this might be an elaborate ruse to get me to forget my brother,” he said, swiping at Beelzebub’s nipple with his tongue.

The sensation was not unpleasant, but Israfil did occasionally give them pleasure.

“Oh, it is,” Beelzebub agreed. “But...I think you’ve missed me, and you know that my work is impeccable.” They reached down and palmed the flesh that swelled beneath the fly of Israfil’s jeans. “This part of you has definitely missed me--my hands, my mouth--” They reached down, slicking their fingers with the juices they made and then slipping those wet fingers between Isafil’s lips. He licked at them and moaned. “And you’ve definitely missed this. Besides, you want my information. So, can’t we make a deal?”

They took their hand from his mouth and braced themself against his shoulder. Beelzebub slipped their free hand under the waistband, into his underwear, and began to stroke him. Israfil sighed, his whole body relaxing under their touch.

“Oh, God, yes...”

“Don’t bring Her into this,” they said, leaning up and kissing Israfil again. “Tell me about Sandalphon and Nuriel, if you want to see what I learned from six thousand years in Hell.”

They withdrew their hand from his cock and Israfil nearly whined with the absence.

“Fine,” he said. “We have a deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Gifted to Donner, who has read and left Kudos on (checks notes) like everything I ever wrote. Thanks, friend!
> 
> Also, to WolfRampant, who took a break from fanfiction and is back! YAY! I missed you!
> 
> Alright, notes.
> 
> When I started this project:
> 
> Me: Oh, I think it'll be about 5k words, and then I can get back to the Underworld crossover.  
> My girlfriend: LOL, 10k words, minimum.
> 
> Today:
> 
> Me: My hand slipped, and I crossed 20k words.  
> GF: ROFLCopter
> 
> She's very supportive.
> 
> Y'all, I didn't see anything that would require explanation that's not going to be covered later. I think I have one more chapter and then an epilogue (but I've said that before and I was wrong.)
> 
> The kittens are growing. They've started to play with each other, which is mostly biting each other because their legs are still too small for running around.
> 
> They need forever homes, and there are charities that can help with transport after they're fixed. If you're in the continental US and want a new friend in a couple of months or so, let me know.
> 
> If you have questions, ask them in the comments. Comments and kudos are iced tea on a hot day!


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